


Underneath the Surface

by MoodyAquarius



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, M/M, almost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:50:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoodyAquarius/pseuds/MoodyAquarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle in heaven is getting too fierce, and things on earth aren't going well either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underneath the Surface

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit of a tease. This is part one of a series I'm planning on starting, so I'm sorry for all of the angst and almost! affection that happens here, but it's leading up to something.... great ;) Hang in here with me, sweet kittens.   
> More to come!!

Frost began to strangle the trees, and cold overruled all activity with it's bitter bite. An old motel room window pane was stuck in it's place, restricted from all movement. While everything began to die and turn gray, one thing remained. Problems. A pair of green eyes stared out into the barren parking lot, checking on his sleek black car like a nervous mother. When he was reassured that his pride and joy was fine, he exhaled a disinterested sigh and cast his gaze back to the just as dead room. A heater vent wheezed with effort at his side, along with the soft hum of the electronics. They really needed to update their cables in this room, he thought absent mindedly.

The only thing that broke the spell of death and blandness over the air was a long, outstretched man snoring softly, making the bed sheets breathe. His big body was curled under the blue and green flower print blankets. Dean gazed aimlessly, having seen the image of his brother sleeping since he could remember. He was always too paranoid, trying to follow his father's orders, that he would sit awake at night watching Sammy's chest rise and fall. It was normal to him, maintaining about five hours of sleep a night, that was definitely do-able. Lately, he couldn't even grasp five measly hours.

Every time he lied down and begged for that sweet relief of temporary comatose, his mind raced. He would lie awake and contemplate the end of the world, contemplate why he was the Righteous Man, and why all of this had come down to them. He didn't understand why the universe, or God, or whatever bastard is running the show; had chosen the Winchesters. The tormented Winchesters, who since infancy were forced into a fate of hell, of damnation, of sin and pain. You try sleeping with that on your shoulders. Dean rubbed his eyes, trying to get the stinging to go away.

He wandered to the bathroom and smacked the tap for the bath, turning it to the highest heat it would go. He closed the door and sat on the lid of the toilet seat, watching steam rise from the tub and taking deep breaths in. He remembered, sharply, of one time when he had gotten a head cold and his mom did this very thing. It worked like a charm for his sinuses, and more recently, his throbbing head aches. Dean knew he didn't have good health, but lately it had taken a silent plunge. Sam had to be kept ignorant, or else the nagging for treatment would never end.

"Bitch," he chuckled, with a soft smile on his tired mouth.

As he watched the steam rise and swirl about in the small bathroom, it reminded him of someone. Someone he hadn't seen much of lately. His eyebrows crumpled into a thoughtful clump on his forehead as he imagined what in the world could be keeping Cas from coming back for this long. He hadn't even visited at all, for at least a month now. It was beginning to become an issue of safety for his friend, but there was no use praying. He'd been calling for Cas almost every day in that entire month gone, with no responses. It set a sort of fire in his stomach when he thought about it.

Dean was not a man who would plead. He hated pleading, he equated it with what dogs do for dinner scraps. He was prideful, maybe, but a beggar, never. Yet the thought of Cas hurt, or even worse, further ignited that fire in his belly. It began to scorch and lick flames in him as he sat in the steam. He felt his head start to pound and soon could feel the heart beat travel to his stomach. Dean let out a grumble, and with the heat building inside him, finally,

_Dammit Cas. I hate you for making me like this. Where the hell are you? You're literally making me sick to my stomach, dude, it's been long enough. I don't care what those dicks are doing up in heaven, you need to drop us a line. Sammy and I have been trying to figure this shit out all by ourselves, you jerk. Cas whatever excuse you have, it's not important. If Sam... or I, mean anything to you at all... get your feathery ass down here!_

He opened his eyes and grumbled again, standing to look at the mirror. He raised his hand to wipe away the foggy steam, and as his fingers swiped across the glass, his heart nearly stopped from the sight of a man in a trench coat lurking right over his shoulder. "Shit!" He jolted and spun around fast enough to lose his balance on the slippery floor, reaching back for the sink, but was yanked back to a standing position by a much quicker hand. After catching his breath, he stammered, "Th-thanks."

Castiel bowed his head in that weird "you're welcome" way he did, like some caricature of a man, rather than an in-the-flesh man.

"You can't just... show up like that."

Cas titled his head to the side, "But, you called for me Dean, so I--"

"What, NOW you answer?!" Cas blinked in soft surprise at his sudden outburst. Dean took a hard step towards him, getting up in his face, "Where were you all those other times I called?" His voice was gruff and sounded strained to maintain it's strength.

Castiel cast his blue eyes down at a crack in the tile of the floor, which he squinted at, then stiffened his spine. He stood rigidly upright, with brilliant, too brilliant, posture. He too looked strained. He resembled a tired soldier coming home and being asked about the war. Dean could read the exhaustion in his eyes when Cas brought them back up to his. He had seen the look in his own eyes. Suddenly Dean's fire in his stomach soothed itself, and anger was an outdated emotion, he no longer had space for it. The bags under Cas' eyes had deepened and gained darkness of pigment. His lips looked roughly cracked, in serious need of chap stick. Even his usually healthy looking skin was paler than usual and dry.

Dean's voice lost all strength, and came out as a soft, concern-filled coo, "Cas, what the hell happened to you?"

The angel struggled for a breath to begin his story, but he faltered, his chest fluttering in failure. His eyes reeled up to Dean's to try to convey what he was failing to explain, and for a moment Dean swore he was about to break down into tears. The angel, having noticed it too, caught himself and (from rigorous habit and training) forced himself to pull back whatever emotion was screaming through his eyes. He stood again like a board.

He choked out, "Heaven is..." And his voice broke once more. It pained Dean to see him so wounded, and suddenly he inquired,

"Cas are you hurt?" He was of course asking about physical wounds, which Cas shook his head to. But they both knew he was hurt in other ways.

Cas took a deep breath, trying to settle his fluttering nerves. He raised an eyebrow, "Dean, why are you creating humidity?"

Dean's lips rose in a quirk of a smile, "My head is stuffy."

"Stuffy?"

"Congested."

Cas gained realization, and his deep, factual voice stated, "Ah, as in a fluid congestion of your sinus cavities."

Dean shuddered, "You make it sound gross."

Cas blinked and pondered, "I apologize."

"Don't." They shared a moment of awkward silence, each looking away from each other's faces. Cas clenched his hands into fists at his sides, remembering the horrors of the battle in heaven, all his fallen kin, all the unnecessary bloodshed and ruin. He had watched the humans make these same mistakes time and time again throughout their entire history, but he never expected his family to fall to such a low level of carnage.

Dean watched Cas' facial expression as he drifted back into wherever he just "poofed" from. He knew there were things going on that Cas wouldn't tell him, maybe because he couldn't or maybe for a million other reasons. He honestly was just happy to see him standing here, alive. He was worried that those hostile dick angels would have done something to him, because of everything Cas had done, every rule he had broken. And for what? For... them? For he and Sam? He didn't think about it often, but, Cas had turned against everything he knew, everything he was, just to save his measly soul from hell. He felt the handprint warm as he thought about it.

They each sat worlds away in thought, though they were literally standing a foot apart. Long dragged out minutes were spent like this, neither of them breaking their own trance to notice the other. Finally, after the heat of the room got too uncomfortable for Dean, he reached over to the tub and shut it off. Cas was lightly amused with the flush on Dean's face, for he saw it so rarely. He cocked his head to the side and stared at the heated blood vessel's on Dean's cheeks.

"What?" Dean blushed more from being stared at.

"You humans intrigue me." Cas nonchalantly reached out to touch Dean's burning cheek. Dean stammered a step backward, "You run like the cities you build, with little parts and pieces all intertwining with the whole of production, underneath a surface of... skin." Dean's eyes lit up, ready to laugh at Castiel's absurd poetry. He was about to spout off a joke about Cas going to a poetry reading, but the look in his blue eyes stopped him.

Dean furthered the statement curiously, "What else... do you find interesting about.. humans?"

"Your intuition." Cas narrowed his eyes in thought, "How you... are okay with feeling things and then acting. There's little to no strategy in your actions or words, you just... do. It's rather charming and amusing."

Dean smirked, "You think I'm charming?"

"Like that." Cas smirked in return, as Dean proved his point. As Dean stammered for a comeback, Cas took thoughtful little pacing steps around the bathroom, continuing, "Yes, I do think you're charming. You disproved my first impression of you."

"Oh? And what was that?"

"Of a.. directionless, mindless, order-taking, soldier. I thought you were the same as me. You proved me wrong, you're anything but."

As much as Dean loved these little heart-to-hearts, he was boiling in this room. He held Cas' gaze so as not to be rude, then opened the door, watching the steam cascade out into the colder air. Cas wandered out of the bathroom, and smiled when he saw Sam curled up and sleeping. "I'm sorry that I stayed away so long. Tensions were too dangerous for me to leave, or bring my problems here, as I know you two are dealing with much anyways."

Dean snapped back, "That's exactly why we needed you. Can't you see that?" He didn't know whether it was his headache, congestion, stress or a combination of all three, but he spat out, "And how am I supposed to function without knowing you're safe?!"

This remark struck Cas like an arrow. He stared at Dean in deep confusion and wonderment, "Knowing I'm safe?" He repeated after him, trying to grasp the meaning.

Dean's cheeks lit up again in that peculiar way and he shrugged Cas off and grumbled, "I need a beer."

Cas started after him, following in his steps.

"Alone." Dean's voice was harsh again as he turned around and glared down at the hopeful angel.

His face fell deep down, "Oh." He quickly gathered his facial expression, displaying a blank look, "I wouldn't.. want to infringe upon your space."

It hurt Dean to do it, but he turned and left, shutting the door behind him. Cas stood and stared at the shut door for a few long moments. He felt an uncomfortable, painful fluttering in his chest. Cas meekly sat down where he was, staring at the door, waiting, like a pet waiting for it's owner to return.


End file.
